


we are capsules of energy

by Greenflares



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: M/M, are bathroom handjobs a thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-05
Updated: 2013-10-05
Packaged: 2017-12-28 09:26:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/990410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Greenflares/pseuds/Greenflares
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Intense sexual frustration kind of came hand-in-hand with living in a dormitory with a dozen other guys. Jean knew this from personal experience.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we are capsules of energy

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic for this fandom and also my first time writing really shitty smut so yay for that I guess. The title is from Dry and Dusty by Fever Ray.

It didn’t take long for Jean to learn that the one major downside of living in a dormitory with a dozen other guys was the complete and total lack of privacy.

“I’ve lost track of the number of times I’ve woken up to the sound of Connie jerking off,” he complained over breakfast, rubbing at the tired ache behind his eyes. He’d barely slept, managing only a few scraped hours of restless half-sleep. He blamed Connie, of course. “He’s just so – so—” He floundered for words, unable and unwilling to say it.

“Energetic,” Marco finished solemnly. He looked at Jean from across the table and added, “You really ought to invest in some earplugs. I got mine half price at the convenience store by the fish market. They block out _everything_.”

“I’ve tried earplugs,” Jean whined, pulling at his face and wishing he could just – rip it off, or something. “I don’t like how thick the silence is. It freaks me out.”

Marco hummed thoughtfully, accepting Jean’s oddities as he accepted Jean himself. “Maybe you should – I don’t know – take Connie aside and—”

Jean held a hand up. “Let me stop you there,” he said. “That’s not going to happen. I’m not going to be the one to – _eugh_ – give Connie the talk.”

“If you don’t, who will?” Marco fixed him with one of his patented Marco Looks that conveyed both disappointment and encouragement all at once.

“I don’t know,” Jean grumbled unhappily, repulsed by the conversation, “but it’s not gonna be me.” He shuddered delicately, disgusted beyond belief. “He’s fifteen years old, for fuck’s sake. He should know how to be discrete by now.”

Marco shrugged and stirred his spoon through his porridge. “I’m just sayin’, your whole problem could be solved if you only took Connie aside and told him what needs to be said.”

Jean glowered at him. “It’s too early for that kind of painful advice, alright?” he grumbled, and he turned his attention to his breakfast, which was a much better alternative to thinking about Connie with his hand around his dick.

Marco only smiled and ate his porridge.

 

\----

 

Jean had to wonder if Connie, with his squeaky mattress and – _ugh_ – sounds, was the only one in the dorm who was jerking off throughout the night. On the rare occasion when Jean was too pent up to wait until his early morning shower, he woke a little earlier than the others, sometime before 5, and silently took care of himself. He prided himself upon being deathly quiet, making no more than a whisper of noise. He wasn’t Connie, after all.

But then, the others didn’t exactly live like monks, either. Jean would have to be blind to miss the way Thomas sometimes crept out of the dorm late at night, tiptoeing out to the girl’s dormitory for a late night rendezvous. Franz often did the same, and once, much to Jean’s surprise, he’d seen Armin sneaking out of bed.

Jean noted with distinct satisfaction that Eren, at least, wasn’t sneaking out or noisily getting off in his bunk. Jean decided that he could live like a monk just as long as Eren was, too.

The thing was, though – Jean was pretty confident that he _could_ get some, if he wanted to. He wasn’t blind, or dumb, and he wasn’t ugly, either. He knew well enough that Reiner wasn’t fussy about who he got around with, having caught him red-handed with Dazz in a supply closet one afternoon, and Reiner himself wasn’t too bad to look at. But there was something about him – not that Jean could put his finger on it – that left him a little afraid of the guy. He supposed it was his size. The guy was huge, after all.

And then – _then_ – there was the Marco situation. Jean knew that if he wanted to, if he played his cards right, if he smiled a little warmer and walked a little closer, he could start something with Marco. There had been times when he’d caught his friend looking at him, his eyes a little glassy and his cheeks a little too pink, and Jean had recognised it as something a little more than admiration. He knew this, knew it would be easy, but still – Jean was an asshole, sure, but he had his limits. He wasn’t about to play his best-friend when it was heartbreakingly obvious just how much his best-friend cared. It wouldn’t be fair, not when Jean didn’t feel that way, when all Jean wanted was touch. Marco deserved better than an occasional fuck.

So Jean lived like a monk, gritting his teeth through the sound of Connie jerking off in his bunk across the room. He did his best with what little shower time he was afforded, and then he spent the rest of his time looking forward to retirement, when he’d have all the time and privacy in the world to get himself off.

 

\----

 

“You fight like a girl,” Eren grunted, holding Jean’s shoulders down with his hands and pinning his waist with his thighs. The ground was hard under his back.

“I must’ve picked it up from you, then,” Jean snarled in return, doing his best to buck and twist beneath him, refusing to surrender.

Eren snorted scornfully. “That’s the worst comeback I’ve ever heard,” he told him, and he grinned menacingly, all of his teeth perfectly white and aligned. His face was boiling red in comparison, blisteringly hot from their combat training. They’d been sparring for the better part of an hour and Jean’s body was definitely aware of the toil. Everything burned and ached in misery.

“Is this the best you can do?” he demanded, thrusting his chin stubbornly outwards in a refusal to submit. Eren’s weight was heavy on top of him, heavy but just enough, and he was finding it increasingly difficult to breathe without struggling.

Eren’s eyes were sharp and bright as he looked down at him, toying with him. “Just surrender,” he said, sounding almost charitable, like he was offering up free advice. “There’s no beating me now, I’ve got you pinned.”

Jean struggled again, this time bringing a hand up and jabbing at Eren’s ribs. The wince and jolt was instant – Eren’s hands loosened, his arms eased, and Jean was able to flip them over. Dust flew around them and settled in clouds, and Eren coughed violently as he lay sprawled under Jean, his arms pinned above him and his thighs pinned under Jean’s ass.

“I’m sorry,” Jean whispered, just a little breathless after the exertion of kicking ass, “what was that you just said? There’s no beating you? You have me pinned?”

Eren glowered at him. His face burned even darker, turning pinker by the second. Defeat looked good on him. “That was unfair,” he said, voice raspy and low. “You prodded me. That’s – that’s not fair. It’s a low blow.”

“It got me the upper hand, didn’t it?” Jean tightened his grasp around Eren’s wrists, just to demonstrate. Eren squirmed a little beneath him, though not nearly as fiercely as Jean would have guessed he might. The hour of grappling had taken its toll on his stamina.

Still breathing heavily, Eren ran his tongue over his dry lips and managed, “You’re an asshole, you know that, right?”

“I’m aware,” he said. He grinned at him and leaned in closer, leaving only an inch between their faces so that Eren couldn’t avoid his smirk.

Eren’s eyes met his, light green and vibrant through the dusty air, and Jean found himself trapped. There was something there – something deep within his irises – that just… _caught_. It snagged him, caught him breathless. Eren’s mouth fell open, his lips deep red and wet, his breath still escaping him in ragged huffs. The colour of his face had darkened again, hot pink and pretty –

Jean’s eyes bulged and he looked away, staring off to the side. Heat crept along the back of his neck and across his cheekbones, and he swallowed dryly around the lump that had appeared in his throat. He was suddenly aware of how intimately they were positioned, with Jean straddling his groin and Eren sprawled out beneath him, helpless and – _fuck, fuck, fuck_ – really hot.

“Surrender?” he asked, though it sounded more like a raspy plea.

Eren’s fists, which had been clenched tightly despite Jean having hold of him by the wrists, opened loosely. He splayed his fingers. “I surrender,” he said, voice low, and just like that Jean was off him.

He didn’t offer Eren a hand to his feet, nor did he look back at him as he stalked hurriedly across the combat field in the direction of the dormitory.

“Fuck,” he breathed, rubbing the dirt off his shirt and struggling to control his heart rate. “ _Fuck._ ”

 

\----

 

All things considered, Jean was pretty sure the universe was playing some kind of a joke on him. Not only had he come _horrifyingly close_ to getting hard whilst straddling Eren fuckin’ Jaeger during sparring practice, but now he was being forced to spend his evening with the guy – cleaning a bathroom, no less. Sure, he kind of deserved it, considering it was punishment for fighting with Eren in the dining hall a month earlier, but _still_.

“This is child labour,” he announced for what was probably the fifth time in an hour.

Eren slopped a wet mop across the tile floor of the bathroom, as enthusiastic about the task as Jean was. “You’ve said that already,” he muttered, sounding just a little anxious – and that gave Jean a spark of confidence. At least he wasn’t the only one feeling shaken to hell.

Jean was almost certain about what had happened. He’d seen the look in Eren’s eyes – the sharp heat, the startled realisation – and he’d felt the electricity between them. God, as cheesy as it sounded, there’d been a fucking _spark_ and everything. He had Eren Jaeger had shared a moment of undeniable sexual tension, pure and simple.

Jean spared a moment to wonder when it was that he’d started using terms more at home in one of his mother’s romance novels, and then he dunked his mop in its bucket and got back to work.

The thing was, though, Jean had to question himself. The whole situation was a little unbelievable, after all – who would think Eren Jaeger, of all people, would make eyes at him? The idea was preposterous. Crazy, even. Offensive to all parties involved.

But no – _no_ – Jean wasn’t dumb. Despite what Eren often told him and despite what some of the others secretly thought, he wasn’t actually dumb. He knew what he’d seen – what he’d _felt_ , fuck – and it wasn’t some trick of the light, or wishful thinking. He wasn’t delusional. It had happened.

He glanced over at Eren and found his bright eyes were already on him. As quick as lightning, Eren’s eyes were back on the floor. Jean blinked at him, dumbfounded, before he returned his gaze to his own mop.

_Well_.

Thoughts flashed through his head – the feeling of Eren, solid and heavy, straddling him, his chest heaving; Eren squirming restlessly beneath him, his arms stretched above his head and his wrists caught in Jean’s hands; the heat in his eyes when Jean had leaned close, the way his tongue had ran over his lips, the way they’d fallen apart for him, almost inviting him in—

He swallowed thickly and took a deep, shaky breath.

He wondered if there was any chance he was mistaken – but no, he couldn’t have been, no, not about this.

As though he’d pulled at a single loose strand on a sweater, everything had suddenly unravelled. For the first time everything about Eren Jaeger finally made sense.

Eren was always fighting with him, bickering over the smallest things, making any excuse to get into Jean’s personal space and _push_. They were total opposites, Jean knew – had been told as much by just about everyone from the moment they were all acquainted. Eren was noble and courageous, and Jean – well, Jean had survival instincts where all Eren had was grandiose ideas about slaying titans.

And if Jean was honest with himself – brutally, horribly honest with himself – maybe he found it a little hot when Eren got all flustered and passionate. Maybe he liked the way Eren’s eyes would grow large, the way his lips would curl back, his chest heaving, and his fists balled. Maybe he liked the way Eren radiated power and strength and determination. Maybe it was just a little hot.

He watched Eren, taking in the way the muscles of his arms flexed with each push and pull of the mop, and the way his hair only just fell in his eyes. Fuck, when had Eren Jaeger started looking attractive? Fuck, when had Jean started to care?

He took a breath.

Jean was many things, but despite what Eren often said, he wasn’t a coward.

He set his mop aside, resting it against the wall, and took four even steps towards Eren until they were face to face. Eren took a step back, bumping into the bathroom sink. The mop fell from his hand and clattered loudly to the floor, but neither of them so much as glanced at it. Eren stared up at Jean, his eyes both curious and cautious.

“Have I got the wrong idea about this?” Jean asked, and his voice stayed perfectly level. He rejoiced a little inside.

Eren slowly cocked his head. “What do you mean?” he asked, and something danced within his voice, something telling. _Push harder_ , his every action seemed to say. _Fight a little more. I’m not giving in that easily._

Jean took a leap of faith and stepped closer. His body brushed against Eren’s, and Eren – who was pressed up against the rim of the sink – breathed so heavily that his chest jumped. Jean placed his hands on either side of Eren’s body, curling his fingers around the rim of the sink. Eren was caged in before him, but from his sharp intake of breath and the way he wet his lips, he didn’t mind at all.

“Quit playing dumb,” Jean told him in a low voice, “because we both know you’re not.”

Eren’s lip twitched, the first time he’d so much as almost-smiled at Jean in all their time of knowing one another. Before Jean could triumph too much, Eren said, “I thought you had something going with Marco. He’s not subtle.”

Something twanged painfully in Jean’s chest. He thought of Marco, of the way he always smiled and doted upon him, like Jean was all that mattered. He thought, just a little mournfully, that if things were a little different and if Jean wasn’t as fucked up as he was, then maybe he and Marco could’ve been good together.

Deciding not to drag Marco into things, he countered with an edge to his voice, “I could say the same about you and Mikasa.”

Eren’s face contorted into a petulant scowl, the kind of expression that Jean was far more used to from him. “She’s like my sister,” he replied, though a blush had coloured his cheeks.

Jean met his eyes and weighed what he saw there. Their chests were pressed together and their faces were incredibly close.

“So,” Jean continued, “are we clear, now?”

Eren’s eyes flickered lightning-quick to Jean’s mouth and back to his eyes again before he breathed, “Yes.”

They closed the gap between their mouths without a thought. It was a hesitant kiss, something Jean would have never expected from either of them. It was an anxious dip of a toe into water, a case of trial and error, a quick check of the territory. For a brief second Jean wondered if he’d made a mistake, if he’d slipped up and judged it wrong, but then Eren’s hand was on his wrist, his nails sharp on his skin, and the kiss changed. Their lips were demanding and needy, and Jean kissed Eren as though he’d been waiting all his life to.

Eren’s hand ran up his forearm to the joint of his elbow where he’d rolled his sleeve. He pushed his fingers under the fabric, his fingertips soft and desperate against Jean’s hidden skin. Jean had a hand on Eren’s abdomen – god, when had he even moved it there? – and he could feel his muscles tense and shift beneath his palm, shifting like the tides.

Jean’s chest was going to explode, he was sure of it. His lungs, which were working overtime, were going to burst through his ribs and kill him. He was going to pass out for lack of air, for lack of everything, for overabundance of Eren. His mouth and his lips and his tongue were all that mattered, now. His own stomach lurched and clenched and his groin felt heavy with heat, with need. He wanted to be closer, needed to be closer.

“God,” Eren breathed when they broke apart, a quick pause. “God, fuck, Jean, god.”

Their breathing was frantic and ragged and their hands were desperate over one another. Jean pushed a hand through the back of Eren’s hair, the strands soft and longer than he was used to between his fingers. Eren shifted his hips, rolled them against Jean’s, and they both moaned into the kiss and pressed themselves seamlessly together, seeking more.

Eren was hard against him, hard and willing and beautiful, fucking beautiful. Jean wondered just how long he’d been that way, if he’d been hard as long as Jean had been. He groaned into the kiss again, desperate and frustrated, needing something – needing anything. He broke the kiss and thrilled at the little sound of disappointment that escaped Eren before he could rein it in.

“C’mon,” he murmured, his voice a slur, a jumbled mess of sound. He grabbed Eren by the front of his shirt, not bothering to be gentle, and he dragged him towards one of the toilet cubicles, freshly cleaned. They barely fit inside, their limbs long and frustratingly big. Their breath mingled and their lips grazed against each other, and Jean had to force himself to shut the cubicle door after them before he became distracted.

Eren met his lips with another kiss, his tongue hot and gentle and perfect. Jean pulled him closer, rolled their hips together, and they groaned in unison, their mouths breaking apart. Jean stuttered a kiss against Eren’s jaw, too desperate to care where his lips fell.

“Fuck,” he breathed, his entire body shaking and alive. “Eren,” he rasped, and he dug his fingers into his shoulders as he held him in place.

God, fuck, it was Eren.

Their eyes met, and Jean was sure Eren was having his own existential crisis as well. In the timeframe of a single day they’d somehow gone from kind-of-enemies to kind-of-something. It was dizzying, the speed of which it had all unfolded. Eren was dizzying all on his own. He was – fuck, Eren was something else, entirely. How had Jean failed to notice that before?

Eren’s eyes were dark and desperate, and something was flaring and sparking from within the depths of his irises. Jean, in a moment of utter impulsiveness, reached a hand between them and found Eren’s fly. He looked at him, asking for permission, and Eren let out a breath and his fingers met Jean’s. They tugged at the button and the fly, the task made impossibly more difficult by Eren trying to help. Jean dipped his fingers inside, feeling the coarse hair against his skin, and he took Eren in his hand. He was hot and wet with pre-come, and Jean almost groaned at the feel of him. Eren’s responding moan was almost loud enough to make Jean cover his mouth.

“God,” Eren cried, his voice so different now that he was so utterly ruined. “God, Jean,” he breathed. Their forearms tangled and bumped as Eren forced his way through to Jean’s trousers, his fingers shaky and quick against his fly. He wasted no time in getting his hand in Jean’s pants, in curling his fingers around his dick and stroking it. Jean’s throat went dry and his head fell back. For the first time, he might’ve been speechless.

Their positions were awkward, their limbs butting together and their surroundings cramped, but it felt so good – so fucking good – the best feeling he’d felt in years, the best wank he’d ever had, the first time in months he’d had anything other than his own hand in the shower. His breath stuttered from him until he was winded, and he pressed another kiss against Eren’s face, against the corner of his mouth, his jaw, his chin. Eren’s breath was hot against his skin as he choked, “F-fuck, Jean.”

Eren’s mouth travelled down his jaw to his throat, and then his teeth were worrying at the skin. Eren’s fingers curled and tugged at his cock, stroking him as though Eren knew the precise way Jean liked it, as though he’d studied up on his technique in advance. Eren’s dick twitched eagerly in Jean’s hand as he slicked it from the base to the head and back again, and he shuddered when Jean’s fingers ran along the vein underneath, so he did it again just to watch him tremble.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Eren hissed, and he bit down at Jean’s neck, no doubt leaving a mark, but Jean found, surprisingly enough, that he didn’t care. He pressed himself closer to Eren instead, breathed in deeply, and took pleasure in what was offered to him.

They didn’t last long. They gasped into each other’s skin, speech no longer an option, as they fisted each other’s cocks. Eren came first, gasping hot and wet into the hollow of Jean’s jaw, his come flooding into the palm of his hand and running down his fingers, and then Jean came a second later, Eren’s shuddering hand finishing him off.

For a long moment it was all Jean could do to stay standing on two feet. His head was buzzing, his heart-beat raging behind his ears, and his throat was raw and dry. He was slumped against Eren, and Eren’s face was lost in the curve of his throat. His back was pressed up against the wall of the cubicle, his shoulder blades raw and achy from the afternoon of sparring. The pain didn’t feel like a bad thing now.

“Shit,” Jean breathed, exulting and awe-struck. “I just – fuck – there’s come in my pants.”

Eren’s laughter was breathy and quiet. He pulled back a little and lifted his face to meet Jean’s eyes. His smile was earnest and dizzy, and Jean didn’t doubt himself as he leant in for another kiss. Eren’s lips were soft and warm and gentle, this time. They were too tired for anything else.

When they broke apart, noses grazing as they slowly separated, Eren said in a breath, “I don’t know about you, but that sure beat my own hand in the shower.”

Jean grinned.

**Author's Note:**

> [And now for a little bit of shameless self-promotion.](http://greenflares.tumblr.com)


End file.
